


Earth and Moon

by dorkery



Series: Hither Lies Our Fated Way [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Arranged Marriage, Colonialism, Dubious Consent, Habsburg Empire, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ownership, Politics, Psychological Trauma, Spanish Inquisition, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The powerful Habsburg Empire came to be when Austria and Spain joined together in marriage. What neither of them could anticipate was the blood-price of imperial dominion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Suuuper old and kind of terrible, but I wanted to slowly move things over to AO3.
> 
> [Here](http://etcetera-desu.livejournal.com/2773.html) is the resource page with all the original notes and links.
> 
> [Here](http://www.mediafire.com/?u66oze97mreghs4) is a download to the shiny pdf.

  


As far as I can see this autumn haze

That spreading in the evening air both way,

Makes the new moon look anything but new,

And pours the elm-tree meadow full of blue,

Is all the smoke from one poor house alone

With but one chimney it can call its own;

So close it will not light an early light,

Keeping its life so close and out of sign

No one for hours has set a foot outdoors

So much as to take care of evening chores.

The inmates may be lonely women-folk.

I want to tell them that with all this smoke

They prudently are spinning their cocoon

And anchoring it to an earth and moon

From which no winter gale can hope to blow it,--

Spinning their own cocoon did they but know it.

 

The Cocoon by Robert Frost

  

  

* * *

  

  

Austria’s fingers were entwined, expression intent and uneasy as he scanned the documents that lay unrolled before him on the table. Ever since Spain had come under the banner of the Holy Roman Empire, France had become more and more violent towards their House. Spain hadn’t noticed it at first, but the spiteful words and the brutal strength that France had been using on his childhood playmate had become more and more evident to the point that he actually lost his temper and retaliated in a particularly heated confrontation. Spain was much stronger. France waged war. Now, Turkey had joined the enemy’s side.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. 

Austria cast a glance to the sheathed Zweihaender that was leaning against the other end of the chaise he was sitting on. The cross hilt was an impenetrable black, on which even blood could not be seen if it were so deeply stained with it. For his lord, he had swung the Zweihaender into battle, leading the charge against nation armies, bringing them to their knees time and again. He had slain countless soldiers in battle, ignored their pitiful cries as body after body fell upon each other, his wounds light against the thick armaments he bore. There was mercy in his blade, for the soldiers were the children of the nations against whom he fought. Their deaths were quick.

He was getting sick of it.

From the very outset, Austria had known that he was not a fighter. _Bella gerant alii, tu, felix Austria, nube!_ was the maxim by which he lived. _Let others wage war and you, happy Austria, marry!_ He was more than happy to honour it, to keep his sword sheathed and to settle political problems amicably. Let others wage war. Let them fight on his behalf. Let them be his shield. 

Austria could not rest with the knowledge that Spain was his shield.

He knew full well what a strong fighter he was, but he was getting involved in far too many fights than Austria would have liked. The breakdown in relations with France had been a severe blow to him, and now with the uprisings in the New World, Austria feared that their marriage would end with the death of a nation. His thoughts darkened. No matter how black his battles were, he knew that he could not compare them to Spain’s. Spain’s wars were bloodthirsty, cruel. He was fighting a nation of barbarians, of cannibals who ripped out hearts and ate them whole. He knew that nations could not die so easily, but the stories he had been told of the savages in the New World made his blood curdle. He wished fervently that the wars would end, at least the ones in the New World, so that Austria needn’t occupy himself with ideas of Spain’s demise.

A ruckus broke out then, bringing Austria out of his musings. He heard panicked shouting, slamming doors, and sat upright, somewhat alarmed. It didn’t sound like an intruder, but…

An attendant ran into the hall, red-faced. 

“M-My lord, it’s Spain, he’s back, but he-”

Austria was on his feet almost immediately, nearly breaking into a run towards the door. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, most of which revolved around Spain being mortally wounded. He was by the attendant’s side when he heard it: the sharp scraping of metal against marble, the heavy thud of boots, the slamming of extremely heavy wooden doors, the rapid outbursts of panicked Austrian. 

Austria suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

Spain loomed in the doorway and darkened the room, clad in his battle regalia, battle-axe dragging along the floor. He was covered from head to toe in dried blood, caked and black, matting his curly hair and crusting along every inch of exposed skin in scrapes and smears. The fabric stitched into his armour had been sliced to the point of disrepair, dyed a darkened red, clinging to his body and swaying faintly with every motion. His ripped sash was barely recognisable amidst the grime. A trail of dirt ( _it’s blood, it’s dried blood, why is there so much blood_ ) and scratches along the flawless marble floor traced the path of the dragged battle-axe, its usual shimmering silver a dulled ash, filthy and unpolished.

The smell was revolting.

Austria couldn’t even mutter his name, gaze drawn to the cold, misplaced expression gracing Spain’s face. His teeth were bared in a sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously and trained on Austria. He had never seen Spain in this state before, and Austria had to physically grip his arm to keep himself steady, to halt the impending tremble. 

“Leave… Leave us for now,” Austria’s voice had wavered and he cleared his throat, wanting to sound more forceful. “Unload what luggage his entourage may have brought. And… And clean the floors.”

There were scattered replies but all the servants of the manse cleared out of the hall immediately, more than willing to attend to their tasks. Austria spied Hungary peeking in from a corner and he shot her a stern glare, to which she quickly nodded and hurried away. 

A hand on his throat caught his attention and stopped short the protest from his lips as fingers dug into his flesh and forced him closer. Austria struggled slightly, hands on Spain’s wrist, wanting to free himself even as he held his breath, face inches away from Spain’s. He awaited whatever it was Spain could do to him then: bite him, kiss him, both, but he did nothing. He just smiled, slowly, not in the carefree and affectionate manner he always did, but in a sharp and calculating way that made Austria flinch openly. He tried to look away but he couldn’t, eyes drawn into the bottomless depths of those emotionless green eyes. The fingers dug in deeper and he knew he would choke soon.

“No,” he finally managed, “No, let’s get you clean. Let’s go, let’s…” he fumbled, but Spain released him and Austria took him by the hand, leading him to their bedchambers even as his other hand massaged his own neck. He was shaking slightly, but unwilling to let it show. He was Spain’s consort. He could not hold the confidence of his house if he could not manage Spain. He owed it to his people and more importantly, to the both of them.

A sense of dread filled him with every step that echoed along the long passage to their room, spiralling deeper and deeper in the pit of his stomach until it threatened to twist him from the inside. Austria didn’t want to enter the bedchamber alone with Spain, anxious about what could occur with Spain in such a violent mood. He could only hope that a bath and some rest would calm his spirits, clean him literally and figuratively of the blood staining his conscience.

The ornate doors of the main bedchamber greeted them too soon, and, painfully aware of the almost-subservient swiftness of the hinges, they entered, Spain walking further in as Austria closed the door behind them with as firm a hand as he could muster. He quickly approached Spain, who did not turn as Austria divested him of his battle-axe and propped it against the wall.

“I’ll get this cleaned. And I’ll call a tailor later to do something about your armo-”

It was just an instant.

He felt fingers in his hair, and a sharp burn flared through his scalp as Spain grabbed him by it and threw him against the bed, not in the least bit fazed when Austria missed the mattress completely and was hurled against the fine jagged carvings of the wooden footboard instead. The force caused him to hit his head against one of the columns of their four-poster bed, throwing off his spectacles and making his vision go out of focus. Scrambling at the foot of the mattress, he looked up, disoriented, unaware of Spain’s approach. 

Spain grabbed him by the hair again and slammed his head into the footboard, inducing Austria to choke on blood as he bit his tongue. He could feel something warm trickle slowly down his face, the gash on his forehead and the cut on his lip stinging in the cold draft of the room as Spain’s fingers tightened in his hair and pulled him up. He could feel himself dangling momentarily, letting out a slight cry at the pain before being tossed onto the mattress.

Eyes watering, Austria’s fingers curled into the sheets and he shakily propped himself up as he turned, meeting the incredible sharpness of Spain’s gaze. He tried to glare, but he could barely manage to properly see when the entire room was spinning. He heard Spain stepping around the bed, to the side closest to him, and stopped just in front of Austria.

There was a sharp sound of something being clicked and pulled away, untied.

“Open your mouth.”

Austria’s lower lip trembled involuntarily and he wanted to shout no, wanted to pull away and run, but he knew full well that fear had gripped his heart. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he was so incredibly afraid. He obeyed with all the blindness of a slave, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to do anything about the tears from the roughness with which he had been handled as they slipped down his cheeks. Something hot and firm filled his mouth and he began to suck on it. He started softly at first, but after a strike to the forehead and a growl-filled demand, he began to do so with more fervour. He grasped the catches of Spain’s trousers with both hands, holding himself steady, a throbbing overtaking most of his sensations and dulling the pain even as Spain began to thrust into his mouth. 

Austria was fully aware of how humiliated he was supposed to feel at being forced into such a servile position at the hands of his consort, but it never came to him. What filled him was terrible fear… and arousal, and he knew he should at least feel _ashamed_ about _that_ , but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel a third emotion when we was already so taken with those two. He could feel himself becoming harder as he sucked, as he bobbed his head along Spain’s cock, angry that he couldn’t distance himself from this particular act because his body reacted to Spain, to how he felt and smelled even through the layers of blood and grime. Underneath the veneer, Austria still longed for intimacy with Spain. He’d been holding it at bay for years and years. He could only imagine how painful it would be once Spain decided to fuck him.

Glad for foresight, for what little foresight he had when he felt himself becoming more and more turned on, Austria lowered his hands to his own vestments, allowing Spain to grip his head and use his mouth as he pleased. He undid the straps that secured his hose and slipped it lower, cock twitching once it was exposed, hesitant to pleasure himself. He nevertheless stroked himself twice or thrice to gather the thick pre-come that had begun to dribble down his own erection and used it as some form of lubricant as he reached behind to stretch himself out with his fingers.

Other hand free, it hovered over his groin until he felt Spain grab him by his hair again, and his anguished cry was muffled by the cock in his mouth.

“Touch yourself and _die_.”

Austria had never heard that tone before and it seemed so incredibly foreign coming from Spain, but he believed it wholeheartedly and kept his other hand busy instead by gripping Spain’s hip. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but Austria was too light-headed to care if he choked to death at that point. He was rutting against the sheets, desperate to come, hips rolling almost violently at the inadequacy of the friction it provided. He thrust his fingers into himself at a furious pace, urgent for release. He whimpered as he caught sight of the sneer, the forced invasion of his mouth then, but finally, after long last, he shuddered into an unsatisfying orgasm. His back arched and he turned away from Spain, doubling over, panting in frustration.

He felt smothered then, taking a moment to realise that Spain had mashed his face into the bed sheets, into a pool of his own come. He felt suffocated until he opened his mouth, licking tentatively. He must have done the right thing because Spain let him go then, watching through narrowed eyes as he unclasped his armour. 

Austria didn’t stop, only too aware of how strong Spain had grown during the time they had spent apart, and felt the mortification creep into him slowly. He hated what he was being made to do, hated the fact that his traitorous body was obeying heedlessly, hated the fact that he could feel the arousal stir within him again at the feel of those eyes roving across his body, but above all, he hated the fact that he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find it in his heart to hate Spain at all. 

This person Spain had become wasn’t real. He wasn’t right. 

Something had happened to Spain.

Oh _god_ , the thought made something shrink and go cold inside of Austria. _Oh god, he’s dead_ , he choked back the desperation, _he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead_. He thought of little else as Spain lifted him and shoved him onto his back, forcing his hands over his head, ripping everything away from his body. 

He became acutely aware then that this could be the last time they ever became intimate, the last time Spain would ever touch him, the last time they would ever be together, and something inside him snapped. Austria became wanton almost immediately, pride be damned. He moaned and gasped and twisted his body as Spain drove into him roughly, begged for more, called his name, pleaded. 

His eyes were trained on Spain’s face, desperately trying to crush the glimmer of hope that began to swell inside him as the cruelty slipped from his face, replaced with tension, with breathlessness, with excitement, with something he could recognise. He whispered Spain’s name over and over again reverently, praying that it would get through to him somehow. 

Spain reached forward and squeezed his cock tight and Austria gasped, thrusting into his grip in a frenzy, letting out a cry as he fell back into the bed, dazed with the intensity of the orgasm. He clenched his inner muscles, head lolling to the side as Spain changed the angle of his hips and drove into him until he stopped with a final, deep plunge, head thrown back slightly, staring at the ceiling with misty eyes. Austria watched him pant, body still, and then, he broke from his trance. He pulled out, closing his eyes, and all the energy that had been radiating off him disappeared in a single instance. Spain collapsed onto the bed in a heap, deathly still.

Austria didn’t dare move at first. He was torn, unsure of whether Spain was asleep or dead. Austria turned on his side slowly with a slight wince, moving to stand unsteadily. He limped towards Spain’s prone form, reaching out cautiously to feel for a pulse, and let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding when the familiar, achingly slow throb was there. He fished his long tunic from the floor, pulling it over his head haphazardly, and replaced the glasses on his face. 

He wrenched the door open, surprised at how weak he was.

“Prepare a hot bath,” he rasped to a passing attendant, whose face became absolutely pale at the sight that greeted him. “Get some men and make sure you place Lord Carriedo into it gently. Don’t wake him up.”

“M-My lord-”

“After that, strip the sheets and gather his clothes. Burn everything.”


	2. Chapter 2

_He smelled fire as it licked the fields, setting the entire French countryside ablaze. England had been the one to wield the torch, to plunder Brittany and Picardy, but Austria had led the charge. The French were penniless and weak, struggling helplessly in an outmatched battle. Austria found himself slashing them down with disapproval. France was becoming reckless, giving into his stubborn pride at the cost of hundreds upon thousands of lives. He was a fool. Austria looked forward to directly engaging him in order to put him in his place._

_“Who is your emperor!”_

_Austria scowled as he spun round, parrying an attack from a French officer. He said nothing in reply, crossing blades with him until his Zweihaender pierced his chest, twisting it inside his body as he fell for good measure. They were all just like France. They weren’t thinking straight. They deserved this punishment._

_“Burn everything! Leave no one alive!”_

_He heard the screams, of women and children, the cries of infants, and killed another Frenchman. Austria saw the look of unbidden horror in his eyes as he fleeted away, gaze glassy, dull, empty as death descended like a swarm of flies. Mouths open and staring up at the sky, they looked for providence in death’s prayer. Austria knew the look all too well, and, in disgust, he made sure to slice off the head of the next enemy soldier that charged his way so that he need not look at another one of those faces._

_He had grown cold to those dead eyes, but they haunted him in his thoughts when they would not in his dreams._

_“Fire! More fire! The villagers are escaping!”_

_Austria had no direct hand in the deaths of the civilians, but he watched from a distance as they begged for their lives, pounding against the locked doors of their own homes, burning as their houses caved in. They choked on smog before the fire claimed their flesh. Their screams would have pierced his heart had it a place in the battlefield. Austria kicked another soldier down, thrusting the blade through his armour and impaling his stomach._

_“You bastard,” came the growl, the tearstained face. “You murdering bastard.”_

_Austria’s gaze was stony and unshakable, and he turned to face his final assailant, sliding his blade out of the dead French soldier, gesturing for an over-eager England to stand down._

_“You brought this upon yourself.”_

_“They’re children!” France screamed, hands shaking. “They’re daughters! They’re wives!”_

_“They’re dead,” Austria replied icily. “Because of you.”_

_“You murdered them!”_

_Austria gave him no reply, sprinting forward to land a swift, hard punch into his stomach. France retched, already weakened from battle, and Austria held him up by the throat. France did little to struggle, levelling him with an ineffectual glare. Austria ignored him with a well-practiced stiff upper lip._

_“You gambled the lives of your people on this war,” Austria said. “And you lost.”_

_“Bastard,” France gasped, clawing for breath. “You’ll get what’s coming.”_

_“Your barking is unseemly.”_

_Austria tightened his grip and France’s struggles intensified. England scowled at Austria openly, arms crossed._

_“Didn’t we agree that he’s mine?”_

_“Play with him later. He needs to be reminded not to fight winless battles in the first place.”_

_France mustered as much strength as he could then, spitting at Austria but missing his mark. England let out dry laughter, smirking at the pair, jerking a thumb towards the burning landscape._

_“Trying to put out a fire? You’re going to need more saliva than that.”_

_The last of the French army fled from the battlefield, leaving injured comrades behind, yelling for retreat. The last of the burning houses collapsed, a deafening silence filling the air where screaming had once filled them. They were all dead now. France swore, already light-headed from the lack of air. Tears flowed from his eyes, unbidden, body wracked with pain._

_“You… You wait… While you fight here… Your people will weaken… In Hungary… The… The Ottomans…”_

_Austria’s grip was a vice and France let out a strangled cry._

_“I don’t repeat myself.”_

_France’s squirming finally stopped as his hands fell to his sides and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

The afternoon was cool. Austria was on the back porch, carefully sipping tea for the sake of his cut lip, forehead and cheek bandaged. He was gazing afar at nothing in particular, thinking. Now that Spain had spent himself, Austria felt an incredible calmness within himself. The fear had given way to relief. He was glad that Spain had returned, survived the harshest of battles with only light injuries. The blood on him wasn’t his. 

As the blood cracked away, scrubbed off Spain’s skin tensely but gently in the bath, he emerged, like a butterfly from a cocoon, young and unmarred and right. It had been a cocoon spun with anger and violence, and to see it gone was a grace that Austria would never cease to be thankful for. 

But Spain was still at rest. He had twitched nary a finger throughout being bathed and dressed, captured in some deep sleep that his body demanded to recompense the weeks he had gone without. The doctor had told him to expect this. Austria and the rest of the house, he knew, were glad for it, not just for their sakes, but also for Spain’s. Austria was still worried. How long would Spain sleep? It had been days now. 

A nervous cough from the doorway to the manse alerted Austria. He turned slightly, nodding for the attendant to approach. The attendant bowed.

“Yes?”

“I would like to offer my deepest apologies for breaking protocol, Lord Edelstein.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I…” The attendant flushed slightly, fumbling his words. “… Upon Lord Carriedo’s arrival, I referred to His Lordship by his true name.”

Austria frowned lightly. Lord Spain is back and the like. “Oh no, it’s all right.”

“I beg your forgiveness my lord.”

“It’s just a name, Hans,” Austria smiled faintly at the attendant. “You were panicked.”

“If… I may, my lord…”

“Yes?”

“Why call you by our human names?”

Austria let out a quiet laugh. He hadn’t been asked that in a while and was glad for the distraction. He had an identity to protect, and above all, sentimentality to cater to. 

“Because I am among humans, Hans. That is all.”

“I understand, my lord.” 

The attendant bowed again, about to walk back into the manse before he remembered something, immediately presenting Austria with a scroll.

“This is the record you asked for, my lord. The scribe has just gone.”

The smile on Austria’s face slipped off immediately, and he nodded grimly as he leaned forward to retrieve the scroll. He placed his teacup and saucer on the table before him, leaning back to unroll it, scanning through the words intricately written with fresh ink and signed by both scribe and Spain’s servant, the speaker of whom had been recorded.

“I am sorry you could not attend the audience with His Imperial and Royal Majesty, my lord.”

“Oh no, I was there,” Austria said absently, eyes lingering over two words that were plaguing him. Blood fever. And he had been there, only seated behind a curtain in some darkness. Such a request was impossible otherwise, but he was a nation, furthermore married to Spain, so he was privy to an audience he would have been having if he had taken Spain’s place. “I just wanted to… peruse what happened.”

“I see. I beg your pardon, my lord. Good day.”

“Good day.”

Austria settled himself in the chaise and read quietly. Even peppered with formalities, it was not very long, but he felt like it should have been. Spain would regale him with stories that took days to tell. Austria expected his audiences to take weeks.

_…he was a demon possessed…_

Austria worried for the war that loomed ahead. Not only was Spain asleep, he was in a weakened state. With the fever and the nightmares, he could fall in the battlefield if he were forced to go upon waking. His armies were strong, but France had issued an official challenge. A country-commander could not be absent for the sake of honour.

_…a devil with a blood thirst that outmatched the man-eating savages…_

France hadn’t been lying, either. The Turks had come for Hungary. He had to fend his own country at the height of the battle with France. He couldn’t just leave the Spanish Habsburgs, but his country needed him. He couldn’t be in two places at one time. He had to choose. 

_The Axe of Spain is ill._


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

He heard a crash and looked up from the scroll. Porcelain had struck the floor. There was some alarmed chattering going on in the direction of the crash, but nothing that suggested real fear, so Austria did not move. He raised a single hand up, gesturing for silence from the others that had gathered in the room, and at the sight that greeted him, his eyes widened. A haphazardly dressed Spain staggered into view, sending something else crashing, clinging to the walls for support. He looked like he was in pain as he forced his body to move, and his unfocused were swinging wildly around the room. He looked feverish still. The moment Spain caught sight of Austria, his gaze didn’t once stray away though he couldn’t focus his eyes even if he tried.

“Austria…?”

Austria stood, about to go to him, but Spain staggered along and collapsed against him, sending them crumpling into a heap onto the chaise. His skin was hot and he was panting softly for breath, body heavy, fingers shaking slightly as they curled into the lapel and right sleeve of his coat. He was murmuring something breathlessly, over and over again, but Austria couldn’t make it out. He wasn’t sure how to react, so he allowed Spain to bury himself in his chest as he glanced back, gesturing for the others to leave them with his free hand. They looked at each other uncertainly but finally did so with a reluctant bow when Austria shot them a scowl.

For a few minutes, it seemed like all Spain could do was force himself to breathe, so Austria cautiously placed his hand on Spain’s back and rubbed it in slow, gentle circles. It seemed to help a little, and soon, he began to calm down and his voice could be heard.

“Where is… Where is… Austria…? Where is he…”

He bit his lip. Spain couldn’t recognise him.

“It’s me,” he replied firmly, but quietly. “I am Austria.”

He repeated himself thrice more when prompted because Spain was still unable to think straight, raising his voice as patiently as possible, and finally, when Spain finally comprehended, he clutched onto Austria even tighter.

“Oh, thank god,” Spain gasped. “Thank god.”

It was strange when he suddenly felt shaking hands cupping his face and dry, cracked lips pressing soft, gentle kisses along his brow and trailing from bruise to recovering bruise. Austria watched with perplexed eyes as Spain wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed his mouth insistently, incredibly tender, kissed him like he was thirsty, kissed him like he was addicted, but those lips abandoned his soon after, kissing down his throat and burying his face into his shoulder with a sob. He was shaking, every part of him was shaking.

“I did this to you,” Spain sobbed uncontrollably, words broken. “I did this to you. I did this to you. I did this to you. I didn’t, I never, I never wanted, I, but, but I, but-”

“You weren’t well,” Austria pressed his mouth against Spain’s ear, arms enveloping him in an embrace he hoped was comforting. “Hush, Spain. I’m not angry at you. Please stop.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to, I would never-”

“I know, I know, I know,” Austria kissed his temple. “You’re kind, Spain. You’re wonderful.”

“I’m _scared_ ,” he whispered with an honest terror that made Austria’s heart clench. “What if I do that again, what if I-”

“I’m taking care of you, Spain. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

“But what if it _does_ -”

“I’ll take care of you, Spain.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Spain burst out, crying the hardest he’d ever cried, sobbing desperately into Austria’s neck. He repeated himself over and over again, oblivious to the protective embrace Austria was giving him, the soothing words that were being whispered into his ear. Austria hated it. By then, he’d had enough. Austria grasped him by the chin and wrenched him away, pressing a firm and resolute kiss to his lips. He stayed there, waiting for Spain to calm down, no matter how long it would take.

Eventually, they parted and the sobbing slowed to a halt, leaving only sniffs and hiccups in its wake. Spain’s face was pale and sickly, tearstained, but much less agonised even if his eyes slid in and out of focus. Austria used the hem of his sleeve to gently wipe Spain’s face, telling him to blow his nose with it, brushing away the overgrown bangs from his face with steady hands. Those green eyes stayed on him, tinged with a sombreness that Austria couldn’t stand, but he allowed it. Spain was calm now. 

They stayed like that for a while, arms loosely wrapped around each other until Spain spoke, lip trembling slightly, voice weak and timid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

Austria looked at him with an unreadable expression, fully aware that Spain’s eyes were on the bruises on his face. Spain raised a tentative hand, touching the healing cut on Austria’s lip. He reached up and gently took Spain’s hand into his own, pressing a kiss to it before holding it against his chest. He leaned forward, a hand on Spain’s back and pulling him in. He looked directly into Spain’s eyes, hesitant but sincere.

“I… couldn’t find it in me to hate it.”

Spain’s expression was a gentle mix of shock and confusion, and Austria rubbed his back consolingly.

“I didn’t like it,” Austria clarified, both relieving and mortifying Spain. He quickly resumed his explanation. “But it wasn’t all that bad.”

“Not that bad,” Spain echoed in disbelief, about to protest when Austria pressed a finger against his lips.

“No, it wasn’t,” Austria said bluntly. “I thought I’d hate it but I… just couldn’t.” He sighed heavily and lightly knocked his forehead against Spain’s, ignoring the slight sting shooting through the bruise on his end. He closed his eyes.

“To see you alive completely overwhelmed whatever else may have happened.”

Spain said nothing. He sighed again and sat upright.

“You’re ill, Spain,” he said. “You need to rest.”

“I don’t know how to make this right,” Spain stammered softly, eyes averting briefly before meeting Austria’s gaze. “How could I ever… Even if you don’t hate it, I do. I can’t stand the thought, I can’t, I can’t sleep, just thinking about-”

Austria watched him babble in silence, gently threading his fingers through Spain’s hair and cradling the side of his face. All was forgiven but Spain was still wracked with guilt. He knew that Spain needed something tangible, something he could physically do to redeem himself even if he didn’t have to. Austria didn’t want him to exert himself, needed him to rest if he would ever recover. The day Spain’s illness overcame him again was a day Austria never wanted to experience.

“Fine,” he finally said, interjecting Spain and making him focus. “Make it up to me.”

“How?” Spain pleaded, relieved and desperate, grabbing Austria’s shoulders and tightening his grip. 

“Get _well_ , Spain,” Austria emphasised, biting his lip over the next words but saying them anyway. “I have no forgiveness or sympathy for the invalid.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And it was more than enough for Spain.

“I’ll do it,” he said, resolutely. “I will. I’ll start right now.”

Spain hugged him tightly, pressing a flurry of kisses to every inch of Austria’s skin that he could reach, both hands in his hair and making it horrendously messy but he couldn’t care, couldn’t think straight and he collapsed limply against Austria with a wheeze, eyes hazy once again.

“Are you all right?” Austria asked, alarmed, about to scramble up and haul Spain to the nearest doctor when Spain shook his head and grasped Austria by his coat.

“Thirsty,” his reply was hoarse. “That’s all. Just thirsty and… smelly.”

Austria’s laughter was both fond and relieved.


	6. Chapter 6

The first two weeks had been extremely difficult. Spain would have powerful seizures, breaking furniture, waking up in the middle of the night and babbling as he hallucinated about rebellions and pillaging, eyes wild and unfocused and swinging around the room but unable to see. He woke up drenched in sweat and incredibly thirsty, throat dry, barely able to move or speak. He wandered the halls at ungodly hours, sleep walking, muttering about leaving his axe on the ship. Some times he would let out agonised cries at the pain when he was awake. They had kept him bound to the bed during a particularly violent few days, constantly coming in to wipe away the sweat from his body and to give him water and some stew. There was fear that the pain would paralyse him and kill him eventually. Austria had barely been able to enter his room during that time.

The seizures stopped one day and, though weakened, they found Spain more receptive of his surroundings. He could recognise, though barely, Austria and some of the attendants from their voices. His body temperature began to dwindle. They had hoped that he had broken the fever, but there was no such thing. He had gotten over the worst, however, and he was soon feeling and acting much more himself. He began to eat again. Most importantly, Austria noted with satisfaction that Spain was smiling again.

Weeks passed by. Spain kept true to his word, doing everything the doctor asked of him in order to quickly recover. Not much was known of blood fevers in nations, whether they were contagious or curable, but Spain did not want to take any chances. He refused to allow Austria to sleep with him lest his consort contract the fever and kept his hands to himself. There were no more large gestures of affection or lingering touches. Austria wasn’t terribly affected by the change, but he could see that it troubled Spain to be physically distant, torn between being close and keeping away after the events upon his return, so Austria forced a concession on their strained relationship: a single peck on the lips before they retired for the night. Spain had protested at first in fear of spreading the fever, but eventually gratefully accepted it as their one exception. Austria remained well. The arrangement stayed.

They had been lounging on the porch one late morning when a clipped echo of heel against marble met their ears. Spain and Austria had merely looked at each other inquisitively, unaware that either had invited anyone, but a turn of their heads granted them a view of a well dressed pubescent boy who Austria swore, once he recovered from the shock, was the spitting image of Spain when he was younger. He had the same tanned skin and curly mop of black hair, though his had been combed neatly and his expression was a little more firm than Spain’s. Under the sunlight, Austria could see his eyes were a dark brown and not green.

His sharp bow surprised Austria further. 

“I beg your pardon for arriving unannounced, Lord Austria.”

“Portugal!” Spain said. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were ill, Lord Brother,” Portugal replied with a slight frown. “I rushed back as soon as I heard, but it took me a while to sail here from the Asian continent.”

“Asian continent?” Spain blinked. 

Portugal scowled openly. 

“You were supposed to visit me once you conquered the New World, remember? You said it would be a snap, and then you’d continue sailing west to meet me in my new colony. I waited for you for _ever_ ; I even ended up learning the local language.”

Spain gave a slight grin. “Impressive.”

“You’re supposed to be apologising at this point, Lord Brother. For making me worry.”

“Come on, stop calling me that,” Spain said sheepishly. “That’s way too formal.”

“I wish you were more proper,” Portugal grumbled, arms fast at his sides. He refused to cross them while he was paying his respects as much as he wanted to. Austria’s gaze alternated between them, not quite comprehending the large difference in personalities. He wished sincerely that Spain had gotten some of Portugal’s sensiblity.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry already. It’s not my fault I got sick.”

“I could argue that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but you tend to ignore me when I do,” Portugal shot back. “So I’m going to stay here for a while until I’m sure you’re not making it worse. When you’re better, make sure you return to the castle. His Imperial and Royal Majesty is worried too.”

Spain’s sole reply was a pout. That seemed to satisfy Portugal. He turned to Austria and bowed deeply once again.

“I beg your pardon, Lord Austria, but I humbly ask your forgiveness for rudely inviting myself to stay in your home.”

“That’s fine,” Austria replied, a little amused. “It doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”

Portugal reddened, slipping out of his proper speech for an instant. “I-I’m sorry, but when I heard that Brother Spain was sick I just rushed over and wasn’t thinking straight. I even forgot to send a letter ahead of my arrival, and-”

“It's fine, Portugal,” Austria said. “There’s more than enough room.”

Portugal was visibly relieved, reverting almost immediately. “Thank you, Lord Austria. It’s very gracious of you.”

“Not at all. Hans will prepare the rooms.”

“I will inform my entourage.”

Portugal bowed a final time and immediately relaxed his posture, sombre expression totally gone.

“Okay, formalities over. So! What was the New World like? Was it hot? Were there savages? Was there treasure? Did you bring back any food?” Portugal’s eyes shone as he gushed over Spain, and Austria bit down on his lip to hold back the impending laughter. Spain gave Portugal a woebegone look and pouted further, letting out an insistent _But I’m sick!_ in hopes of getting the younger nation to back off, but to no avail. Portugal had no qualms about chewing Spain out in front of strangers, after all. He continued to ask him about his travels.

“Okay, okay,” Spain finally sighed, shaking his head. “Go and get settled in and I’ll tell you over some brunch.”

Portugal grinned broadly before bounding off. Spain flopped against Austria with an insistent laziness.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met your younger brother,” Austria said.

“We’re not exactly… It’s complicated. He’s sovereign, anyway.”

“Oh? You seem close.”

“Yeah, well, he keeps coming back to visit me for some reason. It doesn’t help that he looks almost exactly like me.”

“It’s easy to tell you apart,” Austria assured him. “He actually looks responsible.”

“You got that right.” Spain lifted his head. “He’s probably as strong as I am, so I don’t know why he wants to join my house so much.”

“Really?” Austria blinked.

“Well, he practically already has one of the nicest rooms in the castle to himself, so I can sort of guess why he’d just want to stay there. It’s got a real nice bed and a view of the ocean. The servants all think he’s the cutest thing that ever lived, but if you ask me, it’d be cuter if he stopped telling me to be more proper all the time-”

“He wants to join your house?” Austria clarified, interrupting. 

Spain frowned, confused. “That’s right.”

“And he’s just as strong as you are?”

“Yes…? Our Kings pretty much told us to split up. I go west, Portugal goes east. World domination achieved.”

“Hmm,” Austria thought on the new information for a moment. “I never would have guessed.”

“Well, okay,” Spain finally admitted, continuing his previous train of thought and ignoring the brief tangent Austria had provided. “Portugal can be a _little_ cute sometimes. He does work awfully hard. In his last letter, he conquered a nation called… India or something.”

“Wait,” Austria stopped him. “As in… the spice trade?” 

Austria sat up, paying no heed to Spain’s indignant protest at his losing a human pillow. “That kid who desperately wants to join your house is the one who conquered the Indian Ocean?”

“I wouldn’t say _desperately_ …”

“I don’t believe this,” Austria pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” Spain agreed wholeheartedly. “I was just as surprised when I saw how cute he was when he put on one of my shirts back when he was gearing up for his first voyage. It was too big for him, so everything sort of hung off his body and made him look tiny, like a doll-”

“That’s enough about that,” Austria interrupted with a huff. The topic was exhausted, and Austria was far more interested in what Portugal had to say of his relationship with Spain since it was rather obvious that Spain’s perspective tended to be skewered. They straightened out their rumpled clothes and entered the dining hall. Portugal and a younger girl were already at the table, conversing quietly in a broken mix of Portuguese and a language neither Austria nor Spain could understand. To Portugal’s right was a brown skinned boy in Spanish clothing who was eyeing his plate silently. When the hosts were seated, Portugal and the girl stopped talking.

“You brought company?” Austria asked, gaze alternating between the three. The girl had thick black hair and round eyes, looking no older than nine or so. Clad in a rich green garment and with golden hair pins that were foreign to the region, she was, interestingly, rather relaxed.

“This is my newest colony, Malaya. Spain was supposed to meet her in her country, but since he never made it, I decided bring her along. I’ve been teaching her Portuguese culture along the way. I hope you won’t be offended if she isn’t steady with cutlery.”

“A… colony,” Austria echoed, somewhat stupidly. He had to remind himself that the (13 or 14-year-old) boy sitting in front of him had conquered the long elusive gem, India.

Portugal straightened, somewhat ruffled, misunderstanding Austria’s expression.

“She may look like this, but I’ll have you know that she’s got colonies of her own. Countries all along the Malaccan Straits that lead from India to China pay their respects to her. Plus, she can hold her breath underwater for an _hour_.”

Austria and Spain glanced at each other skeptically. Malaya leaned towards Portugal, asking a question, and he responded in her language. She smiled.

“She says she’d be willing to demonstrate, if it would please your lordships.”

“Perhaps it can be arranged.”

“I will tell her.”

The servants came by then, wordlessly laying out napkins on their laps and serving brunch. Spain immediately attacked his meal whereas Portugal was helping Malaya work out how to eat with European manners. She did, indeed, struggle with the cutlery. She gazed up at Portugal with a pleading look, but he was terse.

“Come now,” he said crossly. “You need to stop eating with your hands.”

Malaya pouted, silently bringing the argument to a standstill and they just lightly glared at each other. Before long, Portugal was diligently cutting up her wiener schnitzel into easy-to-stab pieces with a scowl, much to Malaya’s delight. Austria smiled wryly at the scene, turning his attention to the other boy when he realised the jarring lack of clanking cutlery. He had touched nothing.

“Who is this?”

Portugal looked up, as if just noticing the other boy’s presence.

“Oh, this is Peru. One of the lords in Spain’s house told me to bring him along since he hasn’t been behaving himself. Been awfully good since we arrived, though.”

If Peru had noticed Portugal speaking about him, he made no show of it. He kept his eyes trained to the table, fingers tightly gripping the cushion of his seat.

Austria was about to tell Peru to eat, but a sharp voice cut through.

“If you’re going to make such an ill-mannered face and not eat, then _get out_.”

Austria reeled in shock, swinging his eyes to Spain who was calmly placing another piece of wiener schnitzel in his mouth. Portugal and Malaya seemed a little surprised, but not at all fazed. They continued to eat their meal politely. The scraping of wood against marble signalled Peru sliding out of his seat to leave the dining hall. He never looked up once.

Austria eyed Spain with quiet apprehension, disturbed by the normalcy that governed the table as Spain chided Portugal for leaving aside the greens on his plate. He thought he felt himself tremble as the familiarity of Spain’s return that had been embedded into the invisible bruises on his skin began to tingle, but even as he grasped his teacup and brought it to his lips, his hands were deceptively steady. It should not be strange, he thought. Spain was a conqueror. Even Austria himself, amongst a slew of other empires, treated his colonies with a similar degree of severity. He kept silent for the rest of the meal, and soon, all four of them were outside on the grounds.

It was a warm spring day and Malaya had, upon sighting the creek that rolled along the estate, pulled up her skirt above her shin (to Portugal’s mortification) and immediately waded in. Portugal himself had become red-faced, both embarrassed at her brazen exposure of her legs and affronted at her lack of manners in the presence of their European hosts. He stammered his apologies but the truth was that he was torn between keeping to his aristocratic high ground and joining her. After a raging but brief internal debate, Portugal finally conceded to his more childish urges and willingly sacrificed his hose to the elements in order to play with her. Spain wouldn’t care, and he had a feeling that Austria wouldn’t tell on his lord.

True enough, Austria was only amused as he watched them chase after water scorpions. He sat primly on the grass, posture relaxed, but far less crassly than sprawling Spain who had taken to mostly lying down with his elbows propping himself up, toying absently with a blade of grass. From what he could see, Spain was acting as he usually did, only far too quiet. 

Austria hesitated with his words.

“Don’t you think you were a little harsh?”

There was no response, no immediate response. Austria wondered if Spain wanted to avoid speaking on the topic, but Austria was nothing if not determined. He inhaled slowly and quietly, leaning closer.

“Spain… I think you were harsh.” 

Spain stubbornly refused to meet Austria’s eyes, still gazing over the landscape.

“There’s no point in being kind.”

Austria smiled faintly, “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Spain insisted staunchly, expression grim. “It would be an insult to be kind.”

“An insult…” Austria echoed, not comprehending. “As a conqueror, kindness is mercy.”

“No,” Spain said, shaking his head. “Kindness is cruelty _especially_ when you are a conqueror. Do you think a nation that has been raped and ravaged into submission would be happy for kindness from its conqueror? No. That would be indignity. I would much rather continue to spit and kick at a colony than be kind. To be kind is to lie.”

Austria could say nothing, rendered speechless by such a sobering admission. He had never once thought to the extent that Spain had regarding colonisation, more than content to play his role as all the others did. He had not yet reached the savagery that would induce a blood fever, but Spain had, and his insight was invaluable.

“I… never knew why Portugal wanted to join my house all these years,” Spain confessed reluctantly. “So I never really cared. Then, one day, he tells me that he wants to be just like me.”

Spain shook his head and sat upright, hugging his knees.

“Did you know that Malaya is still Muslim?”

Austria started lightly at that.

“That can’t be.”

“Well, it is,” Spain said with a mirthless grin. “He writes me all the time, so I knew for a while. He gained her through compromise, and one of the terms was that she would not be made to convert. If she could remain Muslim, she would surrender peacefully.”

“… that is… unbelievable.”

“Exactly,” Spain said, eyes downcast. “He’s too soft. He wants to be as powerful as me, but he can’t force a girl he governs to embrace the God that governs him.” 

He closed his eyes and buried his face in his knees.

“If I had known that he wanted to be like me, I would never have let him visit me. If I’m what causes him to become a weapon, I… I don’t know what would happen to me. I don’t know if I could take that.”

Silence fell between them, punctured by laughter and splashing from the creek. Austria watched Spain, listless, mind incredibly clear even through the uncertain haze of emotions that were rumbling inside him. He knew that Spain wanted no more violence, be it from him or from any other nation, but his past haunted his conscience. He was much wiser than he knew. If only he knew. 

Austria placed a hand on Spain’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“If she had come to you with that compromise… what would you have done?”

The first response was silence, and it was telling.

There was a ghastly, unspoken taboo that hung in the air, whispers of _force_ and _rape_ that slithered through his mind almost instinctively, and it made him feel ill. Spain tightened his grip on his knees until his knuckles turned white.

“Please, Austria, don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to.”


	7. Chapter 7

_“I will not be leading the charge.”_

_“That does not matter!” Hands slammed down on the table, knocking some rolled up parchments to the floor. “You cannot go to Nice! Turkey plans on invading Gran once more!”_

_“The French have been given a hundred galleys and free reign-”_

_“And what if you are injured? What then!”_

_“I see no reason why we are arguing, Lord Captain. Our enemy lies waiting in Italy and it is to Italy that I must go.”_

_“You cannot mean to abandon us in favour of the Spanish!”_

_“Hold your tongue!” Austria narrowed his eyes, glaring dangerously at the officer. “I will not tolerate any insolence towards the Spanish. They fight our wars. We cannot abandon them when it is our aid they require.”_

_“I beg pardon, my lord,” the man replied impatiently. “But with all due respect, we cannot let you leave our forts in Hungary for the Ottomans.”_

_“Do you mean to say that our forces cannot defend as it had in the Siege of Vienna?”_

_“We cannot, not without you. You are our symbol, my lord!”_

_“Cowardice!” Austria threw one of the lamps to the ground in anger. “Fools! You are weak to think that the presence of a single man determines the outcome of a battle! I am no excuse for your folly. You will fight, with or without me, and trust me when I say you should not dare hope for the former.”_

_The room fell silent, officers exchanging wary glances with one another. Austria regarded all of them sharply, his countenance challenging. It was another captain who opened his mouth._

_“My lord… You cannot keep fighting Spain’s fights.”_

_“I don’t believe I have done anything of the sort,” Austria replied with a scowl. “You seem to imply that I relieve Lord Carriedo somehow. That, I do not. We fight different battles but the war is the same.”_

_“You cannot choose that war over the ones in our own land,” the captain insisted urgently._

_“Why am I so imperative to our win or loss!” Austria demanded angrily, thoroughly irritated. “I am nothing more than a symbol, am I not? My body may not fall, but I assure you all that my strength is no more than that of a single soldier’s.”_

_“You are more than a symbol, my lord,” another officer murmured._

_“Hah! Of course, I too am a morale booster. I suppose our armies have the heart of mice, unable to lift a sword without someone to lead them by the hand.”_

_“My lord,” the first captain said, quiet but firm. “You are not Spain. You are Austria.”_


	8. Chapter 8

Austria looked past his shoulder, halting mid-step as he waited for Portugal to catch up to him. The halls were dim now in the evening, casting shadows whenever the torches flickered, and Portugal’s clipped footsteps slowed into an echo as he stood in front of his host. He bowed briefly, respectfully, and Austria reciprocated with a gentle incline of the head.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well…” Portugal bit his lip, scanning their surroundings briefly. His lowered voice to hushed tone. “I was wondering if we could speak alone for a while.”

Austria gave him a concerned look, gesturing for Portugal to walk with him. Their pace was slow.

“Certainly. Is something the matter?”

“Actually, I’m worried about Brother Spain. He’s been very strange ever since he returned from the New World.”

Austria felt something in his stomach lurch, but he stayed calm, steady. It appeared that Portugal didn’t know about the blood fever, just that he was ill. Very few people knew, after all. There was Spain’s entourage, Austria’s house… and Peru. Peru. That was the troubling factor. He was obedient in Spain’s presence, that his fear would keep his mouth shut was for certain. However, without Spain… Austria cleared his throat briefly and did not turn his head as he spoke.

“Spain _is_ sick.”

“I know he’s sick, but…” Portugal frowned. “I don’t understand why. His kingdom is extremely prosperous. Unless…” His eyes widened, head whipping to look up at Austria, some fright in there. Austria tried his hardest not react too much. Portugal, unlike Spain, was very sharp.

“No, the Habsburgs are quite fine,” Austria said reassuringly. “It’s the wars that have been ailing him, but he’s been getting much better.”

“Really?”

 _You have no idea_. “Yes,” Austria replied, unconsciously brushing his fingers against his mouth where it had been cut not too long ago.

Portugal fell silent momentarily, the next words hesitant.

“He’s been cold.”

That, Austria had _not_ been expecting.

“What do you mean?”

“My lord used to be much kinder and warmer. Now, it’s like… he doesn’t want to speak to me if he can help it. He’s polite to Malaya, but it’s as if he doesn’t _like_ her and… that’s just… unheard of. He likes _everyone_.”

“And Peru?” Austria bit out, sudden anticipation coiling inside him and twisting his stomach into knots. He dreaded the answer. “What about him?”

Portugal’s pause was painfully long.

“My lord has never been kind to any of his colonies.”

Austria closed his eyes, breath stopping. Spain had conquered them all. Every single one of them. Rape and ravage, those had been Spain’s exact words. He felt his skin crawl as the image of Spain coated in caked blood and forcing a woman down filled his head. Fire raged in the background, screaming and wailing, and he could see those cruel green eyes narrowed in sickening glee and he had to grip his arm to keep the tremble from spreading. He was afraid to say a single word, afraid that his voice would break and that he had to admit to things he never wanted to think about. He allowed his aristocratic façade take over his identity then, because that was the most he could manage in front of a boy who thought the world of a monster.

It was all he could do not to strike himself for the thought. Spain was no monster. 

“When I said that Peru had been misbehaving…” Portugal’s voice had a tense edge to it. “…I meant that he was wreaking havoc. Spain’s house has been absolute chaos. We… We had to keep Peru in chains when His Imperial and Royal Majesty mentioned Spain’s name. He went wild, like he was angry and afraid, like an animal. I… I don’t know why he acted like that, and I wonder… I wonder what happened in the New World. What would make Peru act that way…?”

Austria was quiet. He forced himself to meet Portugal’s eyes.

“… You saw what happened at brunch.”

“Well… Yes, but…”

“Is Spain always like that with his colonies? That you know of?”

“He is.”

“Then that is the nature of their relationship. It does not change,” Austria tried to explain as logically as he could. “What changes is the colony. Peru was probably not used to Spain’s discipline and rebelled. That is all.”

Portugal looked only half convinced and so Austria decided to drive his point home.

“Portugal, Spain has not changed. He is the same person who left you months ago, and he will be the same person who will return to you when he is better. He is unwell, but I assure you, when his fever breaks, everything will be fine once again. This is a promise.”

“… A promise?”

“Yes.”

Portugal fidgeted momentarily, struggling over his decision but finally he nodded.

“I’ll admit that Spain and I, our affections are not equal; maybe even the trust we share… but I don’t think his trust in you is misplaced, so… I expect you to keep that promise, Austria.”

“I am honoured,” Austria said with a light bow. “Now please get some rest. I will go check on Spain before I do the same.”

“Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

Austria watched Portugal turn and walk away in the same clipped manner he always did. He could see why Spain hated so to be close to him; he was young and optimistic about the world, saw peace where he could. It made Austria himself feel a little powerless when he stood by the boy. To think that such a young nation could do what the stronger, older empires could not… to negotiate peace with savages to his own benefit, it went beyond admirable. It could almost have been detestable. 

Austria shook his head. Portugal was not at fault. He knew it and Spain knew it. That was what made it even worse, he supposed. You wanted to hate him, but he loved you. Austria sighed, deciding to stop thinking about it as an imminent headache began to throb in his temples. He set back down the passageway towards the room in which Spain slept. He could see some woman servants hurrying out with a basinful of water and towels in their arms, muttering quick greetings to Austria as they sped out. Odd, he thought. He turned back towards the door, about to reach for the knob when it opened. His manservant appeared in the doorway, expression surprised, but then relieved.

“Just the person we need, Lord Edelstein.”

“What’s wrong, Hans?” Austria asked, noticing the absence of his ascot and jacket as well as the folded sleeves and askew collar.

“His Lordship’s fever has strengthened tenfold,” he said briefly, opening the door open and ushering Austria in. “He has been asking for you.”

Alarmed, Austria straightened his posture and strode in. The other attendants, upon sighting him, nodded in acknowledgement and began their exit, leaving behind the basin and towels. His manservant bade their leave and closed the door behind them, leaving Austria and Spain alone.

Fully aware of the night he may be in for, Austria folded his spectacles into his breast pocket and then took off his jacket, neatly folding it over the back of a nearby chair. He sat by the bed, leaning over Spain, who lay naked and twisted in the sheets, beaded with sweat. He touched his face slowly, pressing his palm against his forehead.

The heat was almost scalding.

“You’re burning up,” Austria murmured.

“My blood is boiling,” Spain groaned, half-growling in a way that made Austria apprehensive.

“You need a doctor,” Austria was about to stand, but Spain caught his arm and looked up at him with difficulty, eyes unfocused.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Spain was begging Austria, in a tone that made his heart shrink, and Austria could only comply. He was weak to Spain, he knew that much the moment they consummated their marriage, and his body obeyed the plea to sit close by. His expression was that of concern, and as Spain released his lame grip on Austria, Austria found himself stroking damp, sweat-drenched curls out of Spain’s face. It seemed as though the act relieved some of the pain somehow because he could faintly see Spain’s expression lighten. 

He would be safe tonight, he thought. For now, at least.

“Austria,” Spain asked with a cracked voice. “Do you think a nation could die of self-destruction?”

That made Austria jump. He widened his eyes in horror as he instinctively gripped Spain’s shoulders, wanting to shake him but aware enough not to.

“Do not say such things!” He hissed, anger masking his fear. “Because I will not let you succumb to death without making reparations! If I am going to nurse you in vain, then I will not nurse you at all.”

He thought he saw Spain grin but that was replaced with a bout of violent coughing that lasted for well over a minute. Spain turned his head, and Austria thought he saw blood on his pillow. Before he could even deign to inspect it, Spain’s voice returned, weaker than before.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

Austria’s anger melted away immediately and his tone faltered.

“I didn’t mean _that_ , I’ve told you that I’m not angry, Spain.”

Spain’s fingers curled around Austria’s hand, bringing it up and holding it against his cheek, effectively silencing Austria. His eyes were heavily lidded, on the verge of closing, and, under candlelight, what could have been tears mingled with sweat, rolling down along his skin and dampening the sheets. His green eyes were dull, lifeless, and Austria was shaken by the fact that he could very well be witnessing the one thing no nations had ever seen or wished to see.

“I feel it,” Spain whispered. “I feel the rack… I feel the water… the screaming won’t stop… and the fires… the fires burn… they burn… everywhere there’s fire and screaming… and my body…”

“Spain, please let me call a doctor,” Austria choked, hand trembling against Spain’s wet cheek, wanting to run away. “He has medicine, I’m sure, I just have to call him.”

“I could… I could take all of this if it were by my hands… I could if it were just battles…. just savages… but why… why do they hurt themselves… I don’t… I don’t…”

Spain flinched. Groaning as he released Austria’s hand and turned over, Spain clawed at the sheets, weakly at first, but an agonised desperation soon took over. He began to writhe, kicking and thrashing, as though possessed. He let out a raw scream that filled the entire room. Austria leaned over his body frantically, a hand cradling the back of his head, the other one holding him down by the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Austria asked, overwhelmed. “Spain, what’s _wrong?_ ”

“Fire,” Spain gasped. “The stake. Fire.”

Spain was stiff in his arms and Austria panicked. He didn’t know what to do. He whipped his head around, hoping for something that would ease the pain, something to reduce the heat in Spain’s body. He saw the towel and the basin, no doubt of icy water, and rushed for it. He doused Spain’s body with it and used the towel to spread it across unwashed skin with hands that were shaking but not from the cold. The convulsions in Spain’s body slowed but did not disappear. 

“Touch me,” he groaned with an ache, body shuddering and eyes closing at the pain. “Make it stop.”

Austria didn’t hesitate for a moment. With an unstoppable tremble, he took Spain’s cock into his hand and began to stroke it gently, coaxing it to erection. He could hear Spain’s breathing shorten, hitch, thin into a slow hiss, and he lowered Spain’s body onto the bed. He saw Spain’s fingers digging into the sheets as he clung onto them, groaning again as Austria tightened his grip. He squeezed his eyes shut, overcome by pain, but as Austria gently teased the underside of his cock, he let out a shudder and a gasp.

He didn’t stop, afraid that the moment his hand stilled, so would Spain. Spain twisted into the sheets, moaning and whimpering, responding to every touch and squeeze, without the strength to do anything more than react. His orgasm soon arrived with a shudder and groan, coming in weak pulses that dribbled thickly along Austria’s fingers. He panted into his pillow, eyes open and staring at nothing in particular as he slowly recovered. Austria wiped his hand on the sheets and waited.

After what seemed like hours, Spain’s breaths soon slowed down from its ragged roughness and he had enough strength to sit up slowly. Austria held him as he sat, felt for his temperature with his left hand and found it had gone down sizably, though he was still hot. 

“How do you feel?” Austria asked in a quiet voice.

“Better,” Spain replied breathlessly, curling his hand over his ear, trying to listen for something beyond them. “The fires… are gone. The screaming’s soft, but… I can still hear… it’s not enough yet…”

Austria looked puzzled, about to question his meaning when Spain held him by the shoulders and leant forward to kiss his mouth. Austria was too frazzled to be jumpy so he accepted it with a wary expression, too hesitant to kiss back. It was slow and tender, and Austria didn’t know what to make of it so he just kept his eyes on Spain, waiting. When they parted, Austria could still see clouds in Spain’s eyes, though they were no longer lifeless.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, meeting Austria’s gaze with tiredness. “I didn’t want to do this until I was well. But I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

He wanted to respond but Spain kissed him again, a hand on the small of his back as the other rested in the crook of his neck, thumb stroking his cheek. They remained like that momentarily as Austria tried to make sense of what was happening, tried to make a decision. He didn’t want to go to bed with Spain, so to speak, as memories of Spain’s return still haunted him. Even though their relationship had thawed and become more cordial over the weeks, he could not deny that fear in him that had blossomed when Spain’s darker character came to light. He knew he couldn’t truly blame Spain for his actions, but he still feared him.

Austria didn’t want Spain to _die_.

As Spain slowly deepened the kiss, fingers on Austria’s back ghosting lower to his tucked shirt, Austria recalled the slow recovery from the blood fever. It had begun with Spain’s coma, after that single exchange in the bedchambers. There had to be some connection between sex and the fever. He knew the cause was wholly internal, but the recovery was something else entirely. Each time Spain had hurt, he fought more viciously because it eased the pain. That’s what Spain’s attendant had told him. Then the pain would start up again and the only way Spain could relieve himself was to drown out those internal screams with physically induced screams. 

And the matter of only moments ago… a single orgasm had cooled his body. It had not healed outright, but it had cooled significantly. And the screaming in his ears had softened.

There had to be some connection, Austria thought. Some sort of physical tension. Some sort of pent up desire. Something that bloodlust and carnal desire shared in common. He wondered if bedding Spain was right, if it would only escalate the fever as killing had in the New World. How much would it help? And who was to say that Spain wouldn’t lose his mind halfway through the act? There were too many risks, all of which spelt something unpleasant for Austria. He was on edge. He didn’t know whether to allow Spain to do as he pleased, or to push him away.

What won the debate were the coaxing lips, the fingers in his hair, the gentleness that he had been promised.

Austria closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Spain as he was pushed down.


	9. Chapter 9

_The sky was on fire._

_The clouds were dark with smog and the air was thick. Everywhere, a violent red light settled, dimming with the coming night into the crusted darkness of dried blood. There was little sound. What overwhelmed him were the smells. Burning flesh. Charred bones. Soot. Smoke. Ash._

_Underneath his boot, the brittle timbers from a wasted house crunched into black dust, mixing with blackening embers, with sand, with stone, and as he lifted his foot, the soot unsettled and rolled away, partially exposing a claw-like, unburnt hand with bloodied fingers that were buried in the soil. The skin was hard, peppered with welts and callouses from labour, but the fingers were dainty._

_It clutched at the earth, as though digging for escape._

_Austria stared at that hand through narrowed eyes, fists clenched at his sides._

_“Thankfully, the castle still stands.”_

_Austria raised his head slowly, turning to meet the speaker with an unreadable expression. He was one of the Spanish lower officers._

_“They’ve looted us to our very stockings but they couldn’t get to the castle even if it cost us every man, woman and child.”_

_“Man, woman and child,” Austria echoed listlessly, gaze falling back to the pale white hand in the rubble. “Is that the cost of a single castle?”_

_“No mere castle, my lord,” the man said, affronted. “This battle was one of pride, of dignity!”_

_“Dignity is a beautiful word,” Austria said. “But it is meaningless in death.”_

_“How dare you!”_

_“Be quiet,” Austria snapped, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, to stave off the heavy feeling that had settled in his head and choked in his throat. “And remember to whom it is you speak.”_

_That shut the man up, but it did not sedate his glare. Footsteps sounded down the path, quick and no-nonsense, and as Austria looked to see to whom they belonged, a grimness twisted within him. The Spanish officer snapped to attention._

_Austria merely grimaced. It was his own first captain._

_“Do you see this, Lord Edelstein?” The man said with a reigned in fierceness, gesturing across the scenery, causing Austria’s attendant who had escorted him to fidget slightly, uncomfortable. Austria’s expression darkened in defiance but the Spanish officer was all over himself, spilling excited words to the smoke-filled wind._

_“We fought tooth and nail and lost much, very much indeed, but look what our sacrifices wrought! Our fine castle stands still with dignity! Our defences were quite marvellous I must adm-”_

_“Silence,” he growled sharply. “You speak of dignity as though we had won. Pray look and tell me if such a thing occurred. Well? Well?”_

_The Spaniard remained quiet._

_“Another word out of you and I will cut off your tongue. Speak again of dignity, do try, but know that you shame your lord with every pathetic gasp in which you attempt to reconcile your cowardliness with this loss. This disgusting loss!”_

_He threw his helm to the ground, glaring at Austria._

_“For what did Austrian soldiers die! For the Spanish? For a stranger? For a man who will not feed his Austrian widow and Austrian orphans? Tell me!”_

_“Lord Captain, please,” Austria said quietly._

_“No!” He roared. “No! I will not! My obedience, my god damned obedience and respect for you cost us this war, and so help me, I will avenge it with willfulness even if it costs me every single limb! This god damned war for the god damned Spanish-”_

_“Govern your tongue!” Austria retorted._

_“Never!”_

_“I would not have you arrested for your behaviour, not now-”_

_“Then arrest me if you dare! Arrest me now!” The captain demanded. “Do you really claim to be an entire country? Do you truly embody each and every soul that belongs to Austria? Because if you do so claim it, I put it to you that you are a liar. A liar, Lord Edelstein. Do you feel no shame? No disgrace? No pain when you see men slaughtered without reason? While we stand here, barely able to bury our dead, in Toulon, it is Constantinople!”_

_“Lord Captain!”_

_“What is this? What is all this for? Tell me! Tell me what seduced you to come here! What would make you abandon our families to the Turks! Tell me!”_

_“This country is just as much of me as the land of Austria!” Austria retaliated. “This empire is one that I built with my bare hands! My blood,” he tightened his fist. “My blood is in this very soil. My duty is to the house in which I live, and to each country that it houses. Come France, come Ottomans, I will not leave a single one of my protectorates to them! I feel nothing? Do you truly believe that I am not sickened by this? Perhaps you have forgotten, Lord Captain, but I am not like you. I live with the scars of wars immemorial. I have seen the birth of every man and woman of Austria. I have seen you grow from a child into a man, raised you and fed you with strength and culture. In war, there is no one hurt greater than I. I feel each literal stab and burn and scream of my people, they resonate in my flesh, in my mind, and I **live**. I **live**. So do not speak to me of pain. Never speak to me of pain.”_

_Austria ended his tirade with slow, controlled breaths, dizzy with a mixture of anger and mortification. The silence was much too loud now, and as he collected him, his captain spoke once more, less severely than before._

_“But how could you leave Gran? Why did you leave Hungary, Hungary who is weak for Spain who is strong?”_

_“I,” Austria struggled, chest tightening and head hurting as the world began to take on a dull quality. His tongue was heavy. His body was excruciatingly tired. “I can’t.”_

_“Tell me, please!”_

_“I wish to speak no more of this.”_

_“Lord Edelstein… You do not fight for your protectorates. You fight for Spain.”_

_Austria felt the heaviness return and twist his stomach in knots._

_“That’s not-”_

_“You cannot lie to me. Do not lie to me. You have grown too sentimental, Lord Edelstein. I don’t know to what extent you wish to favour Spain, but please, for the sake of our people, you cannot anymore. You cannot.”_

_“Spain and I are one and the same.”_

_“Spain is not!” The captain was on the verge of shaking Austria. “Spain is not Austria! You are not Spain!”_

_“We are the same!” Austria insisted angrily, almost petulantly._

_“Then why does he not fight for Autria? Where is he when his country bids him? Answer me!”_

_“Spain fights elsewhere!”_

_“Then Spain neglects his country!”_

_“Don’t you speak of him like that!”_

_Austria was trembling now, the floodgates of emotion on his usually tightly drawn shell completely crushed underneath the weight of his loyalty. His fingers were curled in his first captain’s mantle, drawing the taller man to him and holding him nearly aloft, forcing him on his toes._

_His attendant had a hand on his arm, trying to pull him away but his strength was far from ordinary._

_“My lord, please…” His captain’s voice was softer now, reminiscent of a boy he knew and loved. “Please. You are not Spain, and Spain is not Austria. You will never be Spain. You cannot presume to be Spain in his absence, Spain who is now stronger than you can even imagine.”  
“I presume nothing,” Austria spat._

_“Then what do you call the Siege of Esztergom?” The captain asked quietly. “Hungary is no longer Austria’s.”_

_Austria released him, sent him staggering backwards._

_“…Spain… Spain and I…”_

_“….are not the same, my lord. Spain and Austria can never be the same. Not now. Especially not now.”_

_“We are. We are.”_

_“No, my lord. Spain is Spain, and Austria is Austria, and right now, Austria is lost.”_

_Austria shoved his captain back and turned on his heel, ignoring the calls of his attendant even as he ran down the street. He tripped several times over severed limbs and broken roof beams but the stagger merely slowed him down, never made him fall. He was biting down the emotion that threatened to spill out through his misty eyes, the pounding in his chest that filled his head, and soon he found himself unable to breathe. His legs ached with a burn that spread to his body and curled into his heart, that squeezed his lungs, and when his legs finally gave way, he was perched atop a hill that overlooked the docks of Nice. He gripped onto a lamppost for support as he forced himself to breathe. He hated the outdoors. He was terrible at running._

_“We still stand!” He screamed to the galleys that were sailing away. “We lay here dying, but we are not lost!”_

_There was a slight delay in which men were walking towards the deck of the ships, but finally he heard a familiar voice shout back, muted by the distance but as smug and condescending as he imagined._

_“Go home and lick your wounds, dog!”_

_“So says the coward who let a Muslim fight his wars! Your galleys barely make half the number of the Ottomans!”_

_“Hold your tongue!” France yelled back heatedly. “Or I will turn my ship back and kill you myself!”_

_“You have lost!” The voice was rich and exotic, deep, incredibly sensible. “Shame yourself no more. Return.”_

_“You took nothing!” Austria yelled in response. “Nothing! Come back again and we will fight! We will fight until there is nothing left in this land for you to take! There is nothing here we will ever give you!”_

_He almost swore he saw Turkey grin, even from that great distance._

_“My fight is with Spain, not a second-rate stand-in. Stop embarrassing yourself, Lord Austria.”_

_He should have stopped. He should have bitten his tongue and retreated with what dignity he had left intact, but Austria was overcome. He rushed down the hill, waded the waters of Nice with a fistful of stones and pelted them as hard as he could towards the retreating galleys, cursing and yelling and desperately trying to incite them. Turkey did not respond and he surely kept France from raising his voice to mock him._

_He could hear their men laughing and celebrating, no doubt with wine they had taken from the dead hands of Nice, and when he had no more stones to throw, Austria let out a scream and fell to his knees in the water, burying his face in his hands._


	10. Chapter 10

Austria opened his eyes slowly.

His vision was blurred, disoriented at first, but as he took a moment to collect himself, he slowly remembered the events from the day before. He recalled a sharp voice, a worried boy, and a blood-curdling scream. Unfamiliar sheets were wrapped around his naked skin and a warm body nestled against his own. He raised a hand, wiping away the remnants of sleep from his eyes, and as the body beside him shifted, he turned to regard it.

Spain looked peaceful. The tension that had gripped his face the night before had gone completely, and Austria could briefly relate it to Spain’s bath after his return. He had emerged from a cocoon, this one of pain and near-death, he felt. Austria sat up slightly, turning a little on his side, touching Spain’s cheek and running his fingers in Spain’s hair, brushing it away from his face. His skin was just warm, to the very touch, which meant his fever had gone down. He remembered his fear. He remembered wondering if, in the middle of the act, Spain would lose himself, go mad, force Austria down and tear him apart. Austria traced Spain’s brow lightly with a finger, down his straight nose and along his lips, which he slowly leaned forward to kiss as he pressed his palm against Spain’s cheek.

Spain hadn’t. His promise to be gentle had been kept intact.

Austria found it strange how weak strength could make a nation such as Spain. He was so strong that it crippled him. It was frightening, but Austria was glad that he had done his duty and remained by Spain’s side throughout the ordeal. A little more care, and perhaps Spain would finally break his fever. He longed for that day to be today. 

Spain stirred. His head lolled to the side and his eyes opened up sleepily to meet Austria’s.

“What time is it?” Spain muttered.

“Early,” Austria replied, kissing him. “Go back to sleep.”

Spain’s response was incoherent and drowsy, but he did as he had been told and was snoring softly in a matter of moments. 

Austria smiled softly and kissed him once more before carefully sliding out of his loose embrace and pulling a tunic over himself. He retrieved his spectacles from the breast pocket of his folded jacket and quietly opened the door to the room.

Outside, two men were leaning against the opposite wall and engaged in a hushed conversation. They fell silent immediately upon the interruption, looking up to meet Austria’s eyes. 

Austria noted wryly that his own attendant was far more surprised than Spain’s was, no doubt due to the absence of any injuries on his body.

“It’s been a while, Salvador,” Austria nodded, voice as quiet as theirs had been.

“I am from Madrid. I’ve had to take care of His Lordship’s affairs in his absence. I am happy to see that you’re…” Spain’s attendant trailed off, searching for the appropriate word to articulate his thoughts considering the fact that he was looking at a post-coital nation. Austria’s attendant stomped on his foot discreetly, inducing a cough and a muttered, “…well.”

“He means that it is good that you are uninjured after all this time,” Austria’s attendant spoke over his companion in a slightly clipped manner, glaring at the Spaniard, but regarding his lord with a significant measure of relief. “As am I.”

“Please,” Austria felt a little embarrassed. “I have some orders.”

“My lord.” Both men stood straight and at attention.

Austria took a slow, controlled breath.

“Gather the men. We sail for Saint-Quentin tonight. And send a missive to England – tell Kirkland that I will let him do as he pleases with France as long as he brings along his entire armada.”

They hesitated, eyeing each other before regarding Austria carefully.

“My lord,” spoke Spain’s attendant. “Without His Lordship?”

“He is unwell and needs rest,” Austria replied briefly.

“With all due respect, as much as I agree with you, I think it is unwise to lead the attack at this time, particularly with regards to the reports surrounding Renty and the Turkish position in Hungary.”

His attendant started at the Spaniard’s rudeness. Austria merely raised his eyebrows, impressed at his blunt honesty. He supposed one had to be to be able to successfully manage a person like Spain. 

“What he means is…. It might be best for my lords to rest,” said his own attendant, attempting to gloss over his companion’s brusqueness. “After Renty…”

“Renty was in the past,” Austria replied firmly. “Just as Nice and Ceresole had been. I have made my decision, and this time I know exactly what will happen. And if fortune holds, the English will arrive in time to help me secure that victory. This will be last of the wars, boys. That much, I promise. Please, prepare my bath, Hans. Salvador, inform the first captain.”

“But my lord…”

“Now. Thank you.”

“…I understand.”

Both men bowed and left, bickering worriedly with each other as they reluctantly tended to their tasks. Austria let out a small sigh and retreated back into the room, casting his eyes over Spain’s sleeping form. All the unease that had filled him throughout the wars, throughout the time they had spent together to help make Spain better just… no longer existed within him. He felt as if all of it had been released from him through a sieve, and there was an exceptional clarity in his heart and in his mind the moment he opened his eyes that morning. For the first time in a very long, Austria was no longer afraid.

Austria finally knew what he had to do and why he chose to do it.

He was bathed and dressed in his battle regalia by early noon, Zweihaender polished until it shone like a mirror and strapped to his waist as he boarded his vessel to northern France. His men indulged in the pre-battle idleness that helped them keep their wits. His captains kept themselves busy by planning the attack that lay ahead. Austria was calm. He was focused. The journey would take weeks, months, during which time would lose its meaning in the middle of the cold ocean, where they were surrounded by nothing but water and sky. The wind would usher in salt and death as the men forced themselves to live through the void awaiting battle, but a nation felt the passage of time too little to pay it heed. Land would reveal itself, too far away to be seen by anything but through a scope, and the tension of life would rekindle in the spirit of his men.

Too soon would he slash through the frontlines of battle, into the gunfire and right up to the arquebusiers who were vulnerable mid-reload. He had not yet left Austria in mind even as he marched across French soil to reclaim a long sought victory in vengeance, Spain’s lips and Spain’s fingers still dancing across his skin and whispering in his thoughts, calling him back, tempting him to halt his advance and return to his embrace. 

Even so, Austria’s singlemindedness would not be dissuaded. He had only one goal, and upon it he rested each hope and prayer for victory, his future and the trust of his men. He did not waver even when the English came too late. He felt no joy even as the tendrils of victory clasped his very hands.

“I am Spain,” he had heard himself declare to the battlefield. I am Spain. And I am Austria. And I am Hungary. And today, I will be Italy. 

Bodies fell, like rain to the earth, and upon their graves he danced his way to victory with the blood of the French and the sword of Austria. He hacked away wave upon wave of attack, unable to differentiate the dead of the enemy from the dead of his own armies. He could only hear the sound of the ocean, of a plea for deliverance from consummation, of the breathlessness in rage and sorrow, and as he felled the final men, he towered over two brothers, the Italies, covered in blood and dirt, eyes clear and wide open through the cracked glass of his spectacles, and he imagined that he might have looked demonic to the young nations. He raised his blade and held it aloft before them, watched them quiver in fear and wordlessly submit to his rule.

This was victory.

“My lord, I have news,” said a faraway voice, and he slowly glanced past his shoulder. He saw it belonged to a man who would replace another faceless soldier in death, whom he would raise into a commander for the simple five words that he would say to Austria. He lowered his sword and turned to him, expression dark but expectant. The messenger took a moment before he spoke, and those words would remain forever etched in Austria’s memories like a pact of blood and brotherhood.

“The blood fever is broken.”

This was victory.


End file.
